When the spring comes round

When the spring comes round again,

Willows red and tassels grey –

When the spring comes round again,

Our cows will greet the day.

They'll sound their horn triumphant,

White sap and greening spear –

Sound it so loud and long,

Until the dead once more shall hear.

We shall hear our anvils,

Strong arm and naked breast –

And in our peaceful meadows,

The scythe will never rest.

Ev'ry church will ope its door,

Antwerp, Ypres and Nieuport –

The bells will then be ringing,

The foe's death knell be ringing.

Then shall sound spade and shovel,

Dixmude and Ramscapelle –

And gaily gleam the trowel,

While thro' the air the pick is swinging.

From the ports our boats will glide,

Anchor up and mooring slipt –

The lark on high will be soaring

Above our rivers wide.

And then our graves will flower,

Heart's ease and golden rod –

And then our graves will flower,

Beneath the peace of God.